


What's in a name?

by flowerdeluce



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Kittens, M/M, Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 22:24:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18375281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerdeluce/pseuds/flowerdeluce
Summary: Barclay and Data name Spot's kittens.





	What's in a name?

Barclay peered over the chair back as he’d done all evening. “Are you sure they’ll be all right?” He knew Spot could manage, but it didn’t stop him worrying. 

“Yes. Spot’s maternal instincts will ensure the kittens are quite safe. Coddling them is unnecessary.” 

Swallowing the knot of anxiety in the back of his throat, Barclay went to stand, to stop watching the litter snuggling into the soft fur of Spot’s belly. “But—” He leaned over again, worried something might happen if he looked away. “What if it’s… too cold for them in here?” 

Data glanced at the panel beside the bed then back to his book. “The room’s ambient temperature is two degrees above the ship’s average. They will be fine.” 

“Right,” Barclay said, still unsatisfied. Then, “Right.” Firmer this time. 

Data had closed his book. If it was anyone else, Barclay would assume they were annoyed with him for worrying too much — or, as he saw it, caring too much — but this was Data. Data didn’t get annoyed with him, with anyone. He was patient by design, understanding, and caring in ways the rest of the crew would never appreciate. 

Reading the ill-concealed nerves on Barclay’s face, Data blinked up at him from the bed. “Should anything happen to the kittens, the ship’s computer will alert us.” 

After slipping off his robe, Barclay shuffled beneath the sheet, slotting beside Data like a puzzle piece: head cradled in the crook of his shoulder, arm draping his waist, a knee bent across his lap. Calm fell over him almost instantly. The tension in his muscles melted away. After a long day, this was his favorite place to be. 

“Okay,” he said, inhaling the familiar and faintly polymer-like aroma of Data’s skin in one slow, leveling breath. 

Through a yawn, he asked the computer to lower the lights until the only illumination in their quarters came from the starfield filling the viewport above. 

*

He’d dreaded this conversation. 

Data was curled on his side on the carpet, making soft kissing noises at the kittens while they wriggled and mewled against their mother’s belly. Spot held one of them between her front paws, licking it attentively with her pink, barbed tongue. It was the runt, the only solely ginger kitten of the litter. 

“I think it’s time we name them,” Barclay said, cursing himself the moment the ‘we’ slipped out. Habit. “Well— I, I think I’d like to name them. I mean, if that’s okay with you?” 

He’d spent his last shift worrying about the sort of names Data might choose, as he wasn’t what you might call the most creative person. ‘Spot’, he’d once told him, had been the first result the ship’s computer read to him when he’d asked her for common English pet names. His own name, and his brother’s, were not his fault, but they were certainly… unusual. If Data suggested something bizarre, Barclay wasn’t sure he had the strength of will to disagree with him. 

“If you would like to name them,” Data said, sitting up and crossing his legs, “I would happily entrust the honor to you.” 

Spot was Data’s cat, of course. Though, he always assured Barclay that she was ‘their’ cat. So, was it rude of him to take it upon himself to name Spot’s kittens, to assume Data wouldn’t want to? Before he could worry further, Data patted the patch of carpet beside him, inviting him to sit. 

“I will assign the names you choose to their heat signatures,” Data said, a tricorder already to hand. A good idea. Spot had escaped on several occasions during her pregnancy and it was thanks to the computer that they’d managed to find her.

Barclay sat, hoping his presence wouldn’t annoy Spot. She’d always liked him for some reason, but unusual or overprotective behavior was to be expected so soon after giving birth. 

“Let’s start with this one,” he said, very carefully scooping up the calico-colored kitten that had the most ginger in its fur. 

Data tapped at his tricorder and scanned the kitten. Turning it in his hand, Barclay looked at its crumpled face, the slit of its yet unopened eyes. It made a small, high-pitched noise that sounded more like the tricorder’s electronic beeping than a meow, then began purring loudly.

Data read the tricorder’s screen. “A female.” 

“Bee,” Barclay said, confident. “This one is Bee.” It worked: her black and yellow-orange fur, the high purring she continued making. 

Data nodded and tapped the name into the tricorder.

The second of the five was easier to name. As Barclay picked it up, its legs spasmed and wriggled like it was attempting escape. It rolled around on his palm, kicking at the air. This one would be as fast as lightning when it grew up, difficult to catch. 

“This one is male,” Data confirmed. 

A male. Lightning fast. … Bolt? No. No, too obvious. “Zeus.” It had a nice ring to it. He glanced at Data to see if he’d turn his nose up at it. 

“Inventive.” He entered the name. 

The third kitten looked like an Oliver. It just did. When Data confirmed it was male, Barclay had no hesitation in naming it so. The fourth, cozy and curled asleep against her mother’s hind legs, was Sandy. Again, it just seemed to fit. 

“You should name the last one,” Barclay said, eyeing the runt still receiving the loving attention of Spot’s tongue. 

After scanning it, Data smiled and put down the tricorder. Surprisingly, Spot didn’t mind when he lifted the kitten carefully from between her paws; she turned her attention to Oliver instead. 

Holding the tiny kitten in his cupped palm, Data brought it to his face and studied it. It shivered, bumping the miniature pink triangle of its nose along the heel of his pale hand as though trying to find something to suckle. 

“Hello,” Data whispered. He cocked his head when the kitten turned its face down into his hand like the world was too much. Too bright. Too loud. Too frightening. Looking at Barclay, Data asked: “Is it accurate that pet owners sometimes base an animal’s name on its personality?” 

“Well…” Barclay rolled his answer around his mouth, umming and ahhing, hoping Data wouldn’t settle on something like Small or Shivery for this kitten. But he couldn’t lie to Data. “Yes. Yes, that’s true.” His shoulders sank a little.

Data watched the kitten a while longer, stroking the top of its head with a gentle fingertip while it flinched and fidgeted.

“If you need more time, he can be ‘kitty’ for now,” Barclay pushed. 

“I am curious to see if he grows accustomed to me.” Data rubbed the kitten’s forehead, behind its ears, along its spine. Slowly but surely, it appeared less intimidated by the touches. Eventually, it shuffled forwards on stumpy legs, curled onto its side, and let Data pet it without any nervous reaction. 

“Reginald,” Data said, meeting Barclay’s gaze. “This one has to be Reginald.” 

Barclay smiled, huffed a small laugh at his lap while shaking his head. He picked up the tricorder, scanned the kitten again and tapped in the name. “Reginald it is.” 

*

It was only once the kittens were old enough to stalk around their quarters that the names became more noticeably fitting. 

Bedtime wasn’t easy. Zeus never ceased his darting about, stealing Barclay’s socks like he wanted him to chase him to get them back. Whether day or night, Oliver loved climbing; after realizing where his food came from, he was never out of the replicator tray, pawing at the walls for more than his recommended amount of feline supplement, and was often found asleep there in the mornings. Bee and Sandy were the quiet ones. They usually curled up together, purring until they fell asleep on any soft surface they could find.

And Reginald. While his humans slept or experienced dream programs, Reginald discovered his favorite place to sit: Data. This human didn’t move nearly as much as the other in the night and he wasn’t as warm, but he whirred softly, the way a contented cat purred. 

As soon as the lights went out, and once Barclay was cuddled up to Data beneath the sheet, Reginald would be there, claiming his spot atop Data’s chest. He’d remain perched there until morning, king of the castle. 

Data never seemed to mind.


End file.
